


Thrall and his Subby Throne

by Amaranth NSFW (BurbleJerry)



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Crack, Other, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24729322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurbleJerry/pseuds/Amaranth%20NSFW
Summary: I wrote this many, many, many years ago as a joke. I've been encouraged to post it. Warning: it's very crack.
Relationships: Thrall/Throne





	Thrall and his Subby Throne

Thrall ignored the soft chirping of Orgrimmar's crickets as he hurried through the streets, hood up and keeping to the shadows. He ducked into his own throne room, nodding to the guards who were, by now, familiar with his odd routines. Approaching the throne, he took a moment to stare at the massive, polished tusks. A legacy that, by day, he honored... but by night... 

As had become his ritual on particularly stressful evenings, Thrall sat upon the smooth, worn seat of his throne. The tusks loomed overhead, imposing and yet... fragile. They were ornamental, and nothing more. No longer did they possess the threat that destroyed his ancestors. It helped to reflect on this, to remind himself that these very tusks were now... helpless, before his touch. His calloused hand slid along the smooth bone, almost feeling that strength that had faded in death so long ago.

Slowly, Thrall stood upon his dais and turned, full-on facing those long tusks. They would bow before him. They would submit to him, and his mighty weapon, before night's end. Green digits pressed into ivory bone, feeling the slight edges, the parts that even polishing could not fully hide. His fingernails teased the curve of the left tusk, soon joined by the Warchief's own tusks. The old taste of the demonic bone sent a chill down his spine, but before long he reminded himself who was in control here.

A dull slap echoed through the chamber, validating the sting in Thrall's palm. There was no mark visible on the tusk, yet Thrall knew that it felt the blow. His kissing became rougher, then, tongue violently pressing into stiff, polished bone. A green knee ran along the lower curve of the massive left tusk as Thrall worked off his cloak and clothes, already scantily clad... just to tease it. 

Leaving off the left tusk for now, the Warchief moved to the right, eyeing it as if eyeing a choice cut of meat. It would be his. They would both be his. Roughly grinding into the bone, he felt tears prick the corner of his eye at the crushing feeling... but he was winning. He let nary a cry forth from his tusked mouth, letting his tongue lick the dry bone. 

Pressure built in Thrall's mighty loins, and he knew... it would be time. Soon, they would be finished. He would release all upon the tusk, as usual. It would be polished with his shamanly fluids, wiped clean with his rippling manpecs. Oh, how Jaina loved when his pecs cleaned the tusks... [fin]

**Author's Note:**

> If you... enjoyed this, or at least like my other works, then please check me out at https://twitter.com/Squishy_Jerry !


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